The Mask Experiment
by all over the streets
Summary: Random little story I threw together this morning. Somewhat disjointed and fluffy. Hermione thinks her identity is secret at a Ministry Halloween party and tries out a bit of a drunken experiment with someone she thinks wouldn't associate with her if he knew who she really was. ONESHOT. Rated T for themes (alcohol, mostly). Enjoy!


**Disclaimer:** I obviously don't own anything.

She was drunk. There was no way around it. Hermione Granger was absolutely, positively sloshed.

Her only solace was in the fact that she was not the worst at the party, by far. Millicent Bulstrode was teetering unsteadily in her impractical five-inch heels, Pansy Parkinson was fast asleep on her date's shoulder, and Merlin forbid she look in Ron Weasley's direction and see the fool he was making of himself arguing with the DJ that the Ministry had hired for their annual Halloween party.

Most of the people at the party had given up on wearing their masks, but Hermione was enjoying her anonymity. No one had given her any confused looks for actually being at a party, and she hadn't had to make uncomfortable conversation with anyone she hadn't wanted to speak to. Harry, Ron and Ginny were the only ones who knew which costume was hers, and she had promised to hex them all to hell if they told a soul at the party which costume she was in.

Hermione had been surprised to find that her costume was one of the most modest ones at the party, although she still didn't feel very well-covered. She was dressed as a scandalous Queen of Hearts from the classic Alice in Wonderland, thought very few people at the party so far had recognized it. Her skirt was black, white and red, not to mention very fluffy, but it reached her mid-thigh just a few inches above the white thigh-high tights she had chosen to wear. She wore a regular white top, but had topped it with a black corseted vest that had made it a little tougher for her to breathe. The laces for the corset were bright red and rather than being in the back of the corset were lining the front. She had worn black Mary Jane heels that some would call sensible compared to Millicent's as they were only three inches, but Hermione felt very uncomfortable. She didn't wear heels normally, and these had been worn on Ginny's insistence.

Hermione had magicked her hair to fall in soft curls down her back. Her hair was rather long, she had noticed, before placing the small top hat on top of her head and pinning it there. Ginny hadn't let her leave until she had let the red-head tease her hair a little (in Hermione's opinion, far too much) and put the hat on at a tilt. Ginny had done Hermione's make up as well, and Hermione thought she looked rather like a trollop. Not that she saw why the make up was even necessary, considering the smokey eye that Ginny had done on her was invisible past the mardi gras mask that covered the top half of her features. But Hermione had allowed it, barely complaining. She had liked the red lipstick that Ginny had put on her, thinking it made her look a little sexier than before.

They had a few drinks with Harry and Ron before they came to the party (fashionably late on Ginny's request). Hermione had never been much of a drinker, but she had been known to enjoy a glass of wine every now and then. Ginny had not brought over wine to Hermione's flat. She had chosen Fire Whiskey for the occasion, and Hermione had felt her three drinks before they had even arrived at the party. After those, it seemed so much easier to ignore the burn of the alcohol as it slid down her throat and before she knew it, it was eleven o'clock and she had had three more drinks.

Ron had been by her side for the majority of the night, dancing with her when she wanted and getting them refills, dressed as the Mad Hatter, even though he had no clue what it was (Ginny had told him what Hermione's costume was; he had refused to be anything that didn't match her). He had even requested a song from the DJ. But once it had been fifteen minutes and he hadn't heard the song he'd requested, a very drunk and annoyed Ronald Weasley had stumbled up to the DJ and started yelling up at him. Hermione could only imagine what he was saying, but it couldn't be nice. It had made her very reassured in her choice not to date Ron: he was far too hot-headed and immature. Otherwise, he seemed to be the perfect gentleman to her.

Hermione knew he wanted to be more, that he had fancied her since their days at Hogwarts. And she had even tried it out for a while after the War, but there was just too much fighting over illogical things. She couldn't do it, and three months into their young romance, she had told Ron that they should just be friends and that she was more comfortable that way. If she was honest with herself, what happened during the final battle of the War was just fear mixed with an infatuation that wasn't well-founded. After the War had ended, kissing Ron had felt like kissing her brother; it just didn't feel right and she hadn't wanted to be unfair to him. So they had broken up and a few weeks later, after Ron had licked his wounds, they had gone back to being just friends. Harry and Ginny seemed thoroughly distraught by this, but had accepted that Hermione and Ron were not going to be anything.

Hermione's reverie was broken by a very large crash by the DJ booth. She buried her face in her hands without even looking over at the booth. Ron had to have knocked over something - probably something large and expensive. There was the sound of scuffling and she heard the unmistakeable sound of Ron's voice raised and slurred with alcohol.

"He's not doin' his bloody job! Is not my fault he can' do a simple thing!" Ron bellowed as he undoubtedly struggled against the bouncers. Hermione was sure that Ron would get an earful from their supervisor in the Auror department at the Ministry on Monday. This behavior was unacceptable, and Minerva McGonagall did not tolerate this sort of behavior. Hermione giggled at little behind her mask at the thought of their old teacher berating Ron like she had at Hogwarts.

Sometimes Hermione wondered how Minerva juggled being a teacher with her job at the Ministry, but she had been doing it since before Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts, so obviously she had practice. She handled most of her business over Floo from Hogwarts, but there was no doubt that she would be making a trip to the Ministry to deal with Ron. Again.

Raising her head from her hands, Hermione watched Ron being dragged out of the party by a large bouncer. Ron looked like a child, pouting petulantly at the people who were watching him. Hermione searched for Ginny around the room, looking for a Cat Woman costume. Finding her, they shared an exasperated look of disapproval. Finally, Ginny shrugged in a "what-can-you-do" sort of way and turned back to Harry, who was dressed as Batman. Hermione knew that no one at the party knew what either of them were, but at this point they were too drunk to care.

Hermione leaned against the table and nursed her seventh Fire Whiskey of the night, surveying the damage Ron had done. A few of the more sober wizards and witches were performing spells on the speakers to repair them and get everything going again. Most everyone else had migrated from the dance floor to the bar to get drinks while they waited. Hermione realized then that she was alone for the rest of the night. Ginny had Harry and she refused to be the third wheel of _that. _Ginny and Harry could be sickening when they were drunk like this, all over each other like teenagers in heat.

_Teenagers in heat_, Hermione thought with a giggle. _That's not how that goes, I don't think. It's animals in heat or some such nonsense._

Maybe being alone wouldn't be _too_ horrid. Hermione had always liked to people-watch, and this was the perfect opportunity. No one would bother her because no one knew who she was, and even if they did they were too drunk to care.

"Curioser and curioser," she heard someone murmur just over her shoulder. Not drunk enough to miss the allusion to Alice in Wonderland, Hermione whirled around to see who had interrupted her. She came face-to-face with the Phantom of the Opera wearing a smirk that could belong to only one man. Draco Malfoy. He held two drinks in his hand, Fire Whiskey by the looks of it. He held one out to her. "Refill?"

She was hesitant to take it, wondering if he could tell who she was or if he was oblivious. After the War ended and Draco had been pardoned, he had gotten a job as an Auror at the Ministry. He was in the same part of the building as Hermione, Ron and Harry on a regular basis, so they had eventually had to bury the hatchet. Ron was still working on that, but Hermione and Harry had managed to learn to tolerate him.

As she mulled over whether to accept the drink, she looked him over. He was tall and lean, very like Harry in build. Seekers tend to look alike in that way. His blond hair was slicked back a la Phantom, but his telltale gray eyes were shining. Half of his face was covered by the white mask, but it was identical to the side that was out: angled, aristocratic, perfect. His black cloak fell around his wide shoulders and reached the floor. His suit beneath was tailored perfectly, unsurprisingly.

Hermione took all of this in in less than a second before she decided he had no idea who she was and took the drink. No one at the party had recognized her either and thought she was just some bimbo Ron had brought with him to the event, as he was prone to do. It could be fun to mess with Draco and reveal to him later in the night who she really was.

"Off with her head!" Hermione responded with a giggle as her hand closed around the drink. She finished the one in her other hand with a long gulp and relished the burning down her throat. Draco actually smiled in response to her enthusiastic answer. Hermione had never seen him smile. It was kind of lopsided and Hermione was a little shocked to see that something wasn't perfect about him.

"Who _are_ you?" Draco asked, sidling up to her next to the table. Hermione grinned and thanked Merlin for the fact that Draco was as smart and well-read as she was.

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see."

"Curioser and curioser," Draco said again. He dipped his head to her ear. "Would you care to dance?"

Hermione's eyes shot to the floor, which had begun to fill again as the speaker was righted next to the DJ. Music had begun to play again and people were drunkenly dancing, grinding against each other off-beat to the music or off-rhythm with each other. She wasn't really much of a dancer. But then, as she had said, she was not herself at the moment. Draco didn't know a thing about her while she was in this costume, and he didn't know she didn't dance. It might be the Fire Whiskey talking, but Hermione felt like being spontaneous.

Rather than answer, she downed her drink and sauntered toward the dance floor. She couldn't help but wonder if she was doing it right, since walking sexy wasn't really her forte. She heard Draco drop his glass on the table and a moment later he was next to her with his hand on the small of her back, walking her to the floor and shoving through till they were in the middle of the gyrating mass. Hermione started to question this plan, since she hadn't ever danced to music like this. She had only ever danced at formal events where people danced waltzes and tangos. But Draco had pulled her back up to his chest and was leading her already. She bent her knees and followed, surprised that "following" was even possible to this kind of music.

Draco was a gentleman about their dance, keeping his hands above her hips but below her breasts. But he had nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck inhaling her scent. Hermione found herself hoping she didn't reek of alcohol. He didn't say anything though, just danced with her in silence, helping her hips learn the motions. Without knowing what she was doing, she found her arms raising above her head to wrap around his neck, tangling her fingers in his perfect hair at the nape of his neck. It was impossibly soft and fine, just as she had always thought it would be.

_Always thought it would be?_ Hermione asked herself. If she was honest with herself (which alcohol made impossible to avoid), she had always wondered many things about the man behind her. She had never been able to figure him out. Always the enigma, always the tortured soul. The one problem Hermione had no solution for.

"Stop thinking," he murmured into her ear, catching her off guard. Hermione jumped a little, disrupting their dance and turning to face him.

"What?" she asked. Rather than answer, Draco pulled her back against him, their fronts now meshed together. She never got her answer. Her face was in his chest and she was forced to inhale his scent: spearmint and something she couldn't quite place. It was inviting, and she melted into him. The song came to an end and the DJ began to speak.

"This is a slow one, for all the couples," he said, a little lackluster after his encounter with Ron. Hermione turned to leave, but Draco caught her hand.

"Stay?" he asked. Hermione looked back at him, hoping her mask covered her indecision. Finally, she nodded. A waltz began to play and it was like being back at the Yule Ball, except Draco was a much better dancer than Viktor Krum had been. He twirled her on the floor, leading with expertise. Her footing was unsure, the Fire Whiskey rearing its ugly head, but if she stepped on his feet he didn't say anything or even flinch.

She caught Ginny's eyes over Draco's shoulder and registered the stunned look on her face, as well as the angry one on Harry behind her. Harry had never been a dancer; he had always been horrid at it, and Ginny had accepted that. They never danced at these things. But seeing Hermione with Draco Malfoy - because it was very obvious who he was, even with his costume - was a huge surprise for the two of them. Hermione was surprised at herself as well. She would never have expected to be doing this. She wasn't sure that she could reveal herself now for fear of his reaction.

The dance ended and she broke away from Draco, heading for the bar. She ordered herself a Fire Whiskey and drank it in one gulp. But he was there beside her, ordering himself a scotch and another Fire Whiskey for her.

"I enjoyed the dance," Draco said. Hermione turned to face him, leaning on the bar. Before she could say anything, he had leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. He pulled back and in her stunned silence, started to leave. He glanced over his shoulder at her and smirked though. "Have a wonderful night, Hermione."

"What?" Hermione breathed. But he was already walking away, pushing through the crowd. He disappeared into the throng and Hermione lost sight of him. So much for being unidentifiable. Hermione raised a hand to her lips and felt where his had touched them. It had been like electricity. Her curiosity was peaked, and her confusion knew no bounds. Draco Malfoy.

Parchment. That's what he had smelled like. Spearmint and parchment.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is fairly disjointed, which I think works to an extent because Hermione is supposed to be drunk. But it also doesn't work at the same time. I like this, it's fluffy, and I literally spent maybe an hour on this. So sorry if it's horrid. But I like it. The scent of Draco, btw, has to do with the amortentia potion Slughorn brewed their sixth year. That is all.


End file.
